


antibodies in c minor

by weatheredlaw



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: 6000 Years of Fucking (Good Omens), Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Come Eating, Come Sharing, Explicit Sexual Content, Female-Presenting Aziraphale (Good Omens), Female-Presenting Crowley (Good Omens), Fucking to Build Immunity, Love Confessions, M/M, Painplay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-03
Updated: 2019-10-03
Packaged: 2020-11-22 07:21:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,280
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20870366
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/weatheredlaw/pseuds/weatheredlaw
Summary: “I am stuck in your orbit,” Crowley said. “I’ve no intention and nodesireto goanywhereelse.”or: after a tryst in rome, crowley and aziraphale realize their corporations aren't exactly designed to be together. that's nothing a good five thousand years of practice sex can't fix.





	antibodies in c minor

**Author's Note:**

> i made [this post](https://weatheredlaw.tumblr.com/post/187693972054/theres-a-spider-man-series-called-spider-island) and then i had to make good on the fic. it's mostly them fucking and crowley falling in love. enjoy!

_ **rome, 41 AD ** _

It _didn't_ feel good, the first time it happened. Aziraphale came in his mouth and Crowley flinched, pulling back with a cry. He had come on his tongue and lips, sliding down his chin with a tickle-burn that _ached_, but in a way he couldn’t really describe. It was like touching a hot coal, but only for a moment. Crowley didn’t know what to do so he _swallowed_ and oh fuck that was a _mistake._ He wanted to _howl_ as it slid down his throat, hot and prickling at the inside of this body that he could not afford to discorporate.

Aziraphale was gasping, bracing himself with one hand on the wall, the other still holding his cock. They’d been unwilling bystanders at a very friendly orgy, each assigned to opposing tasks. They’d kissed for a few moments, just to keep everyone happy, did as they’d been ordered, and left in a hurry. Once inside the safety of Aziraphale’s apartment, Crowley had dropped to his knees and Aziraphale didn’t need to be asked to push aside the white fabric of his toga — though Crowley wasn’t above, or below, begging. He considered it a perfectly fine way to get what you want, especially if the other person liked it.

And Aziraphale _liked_ it. Because Crowley had begged for Aziraphale to come in his mouth, opened wide — and then nearly whited out with pain.

“_Crowley_—”

“I’m _fine!_” he half-shouted, staggering back.

He was _not_ fine — his mouth _burned_, he was achingly hard under his own robes, and his ears were ringing.

_And he liked it._

“You’re not—”

“_Shut it_,” Crowley hissed. He was on his hands and knees and counted himself lucky he didn’t buckle at the elbows. There was still come on his chin. He wiped it with his sleeve, but the skin still prickled. “_Fuck._”

“I hurt you.” Aziraphale was kneeling beside him, putting a tentative hand on the small of his back. “That was painful, I could tell.”

“You think?” Crowley huffed a laugh. His sunglasses clattered from his face to the floor, but that was the least of his worries, his main one being — having Aziraphale’s cock in his mouth was so _sweet_, so _good_, and now the blasted angel probably wouldn’t think twice before rejecting him in the future. Typical. Oh so _fucking_ typical. Crowley moaned and rocked backwards, lifting his hands and scrubbing them over his face. “Damn.”

“Was it...I mean _before_ all that—” Aziraphale waved a hand over him. “Was it..._good?_”

Crowley peaked between his fingers. “Are you asking me if I _liked_ sucking your cock, angel?” Aziraphale nodded. Crowley dropped his hands. “Well. Yeah. It was, uh. It was good. I liked it.”

“_Oh._” Aziraphale sounded _relieved_. “I was worried, I’d never...well that was my first time doing _that_ with, ah. With someone _else_, you see.” Crowley raised a brow. “I’ve done some other things, of course. No harm in a bit of dabbling, as ah. Well, as _no one_ said, just yet. But I’m sure it’ll catch on!”

He was rambling.

He was rambling and rubbing his hands nervously over his thighs and it socked Crowley in the _jaw _how fucking much he adored him.

“Hey.” Crowley reached out, cupped Aziraphale’s cheek and lifted his gaze. “You were spectacular. No need to worry about that. And what I felt? I’m sure we can work around it.”

Aziraphale’s expression brightened. “Oh! Oh, do you really think so?” Crowley nodded. “Well...well _good._ I’m glad. Because I can tell that you…” His eyes drifted down to the obvious tent between Crowley’s legs. “And I’d be quite willing to assist, if you’d allow me.” Crowley nodded again and watched Aziraphale stand, taking his hand when it was offered and being led toward the bed. Aziraphale plucked at the edges of the dark toga until it came away under his hands and reached in to wrap his hand around Crowley’s cock.

Crowley jerked in his grasp. Aziraphale may have been learning new things during his time in the city, but Crowley had mostly stuck to the markets, listening to shady business dealings and encouraging things to go south. There was rebellion on the horizon, he had his work cut out for him. He hadn’t had time to dine with local dignitaries and stick their cocks in his mouth. Funny that his first time should be with _Aziraphale_, in the same ways that it was disturbingly fitting.

“Oh, _fuck_—” He thrust into Aziraphale’s fist, struggling to get more friction. Aziraphale laid out beside him, carding his fingers through Crowley’s hair, murmuring little words of encouragement, like —

“That’s it, sweetheart. That’s very good, that’s _so_ good. Look how lovely you look for me, look how pretty your cock looks in my hand—” Made Crowley think about having a cunt, the next time they saw one another. He wanted to hear other things, things about how wet he was, how hot and good he felt, how _tight_ he was —

He came, striping his chest and watching some of it land on Aziraphale’s hand. He heard a hiss and Aziraphale pulled back, rubbing the skin very quickly.

“Did it—”

“A smidge,” Aziraphale said, as if they’re talking about how much it _rained_ yesterday.

“Aziraphale—”

“Not enough to discorporate me, my dear. Don’t worry on it.” He kissed Crowley’s brow and, before Crowley could stop him, drug a finger through the come on Crowley’s stomach and licked it clean.

“_Angel_—”

Aziraphale made a face, like he did when he’d eaten something before it had cooled — but he didn’t start burning from the inside out. He didn't start melting into a holy puddle all over the bed, and Crowley figured that was probably lucky. He didn't need to be accused by upstairs of killing an angel, though it probably would have gotten him promoted to Satan’s lieutenant down below, especially once they figured out how he did it.

Aziraphale sighed. “Probably shouldn’t have anymore,” he said, and it was the same thing he said right before he ate another fifteen dates. He took another swipe, licked it, and moaned.

“...Do you _like that_?” Crowley asked.

“It’s...oh, it’s so _strange!_ I can’t quite explain myself. I know it hurts, of course, but there’s a certain pleasure in it. And I like it more, I think, because I know it’s not…”

“Destroying you.”

“Yes!”

Crowley nodded, sitting up and going over to the little wash basin in the corner. He cleaned himself off and turned back to find Aziraphale sitting cross-legged in bed, eating from a bowl of nuts. “You could eat anywhere, couldn’t you?”

“I’ve worked up an appetite,” he said defensively, and offered one to Crowley. Crowley shook his head, instead leaning down for a kiss before miracling his clothes back on. He pulled back. “Do you think,” he said, “that if we tried that enough...do you think we’d—”

“Get used to it?” Aziraphale asked, voice whisper-thin. Crowley nodded. “I think there’s only one way to find out.”

Crowley shivered. “Well. I’ll see you when I see you, then.”

“Yes,” Aziraphale said. “I’m sure you will.”

* * *

_ **london, 1601 ** _

When Crowley had said, “My treat,” he had meant for it to sound...tired. A little, _ah woe is me, the things I do for you, angel._

It came out _far _more suggestive than that, and Crowley could feel Aziraphale’s eyes on him the entire way out of the theatre — which was probably how they got _here_.

Here being: Crowley’s flat above a bakery, his legs over Aziraphale’s shoulders while the angel did _delightful_ things with his tongue between Crowley’s arse cheeks. He thought briefly about having a cunt, asking Aziraphale if he’d fancy that, but everything about _this_ was so fucking good Crowley was hesitant to suggest anything that might make it stop.

They were working up to the other parts — Aziraphale wanted to fuck him, he’d made that very clear. Crowley could see him rutting against the mattress, though, and was very certain he’d come before they had the chance to do anything more interesting than tongue Crowley open.

“_Angel_, you can get up here now.”

Aziraphale looked up from between Crowley’s thighs, a little dazed. “You don’t like it?”

“Ah, _no_. Quite the opposite, actually. I fucking _love it_. But you said you…” He trailed off, and Aziraphale smiled.

“Of course. But I do think we could get you to come from that alone, don’t you?” Crowley shrugged and made himself a bit more comfortable. He watched as Aziraphale leaned back and stroked his cock. “I wonder if we’re moving too fast,” he said. “If we should work up to this a bit more.”

Crowley shook his head. “It’s fine.”

“Yes, but you don’t _know_ that—”

“Anyone asks, I got discorporated defiling _you_.”

“Well, you _are_, in a way. But I see your point.” Aziraphale sighed and moved forward on his knees, reaching between Crowley’s cheeks to work at him a bit more. “You would look _lovely_ with something a bit different down here.”

“You mean a _cunt?_” Crowley asked.

Aziraphale huffed. “Well, _yes._”

Crowley nodded. “Right. Haven’t thought about it much.” He drew one leg back. “Can you get on with it?”

“Of course.” Aziraphale leaned in, his cock slick now — Crowley wondered how he explained that in the audits, how he handwaved over _that_ — and thrust completely inside him.

Crowley moaned. “_Oh,_ fuck.”

“I don’t have much practice with this.”

“I don’t have any so just—” Aziraphale pulled out and thrust in, _hard_, and Crowley cried out. “Again,” he managed. “Fuck, do that again.”

“It doesn’t—”

“It feels _fantastic_ which is why I asked you to _do it_—”

Aziraphale did it again. Crowley instinctually wound his legs around Aziraphale’s waist, drawing him closer. Every thrust of Azirphale’s hips drew an increasingly pathetic noise from Crowley’s throat, until he was nothing but a writhing, pleading, aching mess.

“Wonderful,” Aziraphale murmured, and he looked down at Crowley the way he always did, whether they were fucking or not — like he was just understanding what Crowley was made of, or where he’d really come from. “Absolutely wonderful.”

“_Angel_—”

Aziraphale laughed. “You know, I like it when you say that. Especially like—” He moaned himself, mid-thrust. “Like _this._ Reminds me of my place. _Your_ place, in the grand scheme of things.”

“And what’s...what’s that?” Crowley managed.

Aziraphale slowed down and bent low, pressing his lips to the shell of Crowley’s ear before he said softly, “That by nature you are _wicked_, and I am divine. But here?” He thrust in and stilled. “We are really only as much as the sum of our parts.”

Crowley came. He didn’t even need to touch his cock — Aziraphale’s words, his _voice_, it was enough and he came and made a mess of himself just as Aziraphale began to fuck him harder now, drawing back and pounding Crowley, his pace grueling and possessive. Crowley was already feeling the burn from Aziraphale’s precome that had been smeared on his hand earlier in the night and was now inside him, but he wasn’t prepared for the white-hot _ache_ when Aziraphale cried out and spilled his seed deep inside.

The noise he made was _inhuman_, and it obviously frightened Aziraphale, who pulled out and fell backwards, right off the bed. It’d have been pretty funny, if Crowley weren’t arched off the bed, fingers growing _claws_ that tore at the sheets as his _wings_ spilled out of one dimension and into this one. This was so different than Aziraphale coming on his chest or cheeks. Different even from swallowing it. This was fire and heat and the still present pleasure-ache Aziraphale’s cock had given him.

Crowley felt on the edge of discorporation. It’d happened once before, and he’d never forgotten the feeling, made _sure_ he never forgot and right now, it overwhelmed him, it swallowed him whole and dug its teeth into his neck, ready to tear, ready to shred —

“It’s alright,” a soothing voice said. “Come back, my dear. Come back to me.”

Crowley _sobbed_ and opened his eyes. Aziraphale was looking at him, stroking his cheek and pushing the hair back from his forehead. “There you are,” he murmured, “that’s it.”

Crowley swallowed, but his mouth was dry, terribly dry. Aziraphale seemed to know and went to get him a glass. And because he knew Crowley _best_ — a truth that was rapidly descending upon Crowley like an avalanche — the glass was filled with wine.

When Crowley had drank deeply from it, he pushed Aziraphale’s hand back and croaked, “_Fuck._”

“Yes, something like that.” Aziraphale sighed and set the glass on the bedside table. “Oh my dear, your _wings._” They were still out, bent a little at an awkward angle. “It’s been some time since I…” He stroked one hand along the feathers almost adoringly, and Crowley turned his head to look away. “You scared me.”

“Scared myself.”

Aziraphale clucked his tongue. “That was dangerous of us. We already knew what it felt like, we shouldn’t have gone so—”

“Don’t,” Crowley snapped, and sat up. He tucked his wings in and away. “Nothing happened to me—”

“Nothing _happened?_ Crowley, I nearly discorporated you. I could sense it!”

Crowley laughed. “Yeah, and what a way to go.”

Aziraphale huffed. “We shouldn’t have taken it so far.”

_We should probably never do this again_, Crowley could almost hear. He didn’t want to hear it. He grabbed Aziraphale’s face in his hands and kissed him. _That_ burn was delicious. It was _nothing_ compared to the other things Crowley had felt. And now that he’d felt them, he couldn’t really say he regretted it.

Aziraphale moaned against Crowley’s lips and urged him back into bed. Crowley’s belly was still slick with his own spend and Aziraphale pulled away only to clean it, wincing at the spark it made on his tongue. Crowley watched him in awe before he let his head fall back against the pillows and closed his eyes.

He only opened them when he felt Aziraphale settle next to him. Crowley rolled over and immediately put a hand in Aziraphale’s hair, cupping the back of his head and kissing him again.

Crowley said, “I don’t want to stop,” and Aziraphale laughed.

“I know. Neither do I.”

“We can work through this. It gets better all the time. Remember? The first time—”

“How could I forget?”

“We said we’d just...get used to it. Over time.” Crowley pushed himself up on his elbow, drawing his fingers carefully down the curve of Aziraphale’s shoulder and his arm. “I’m not willing to give this up, angel. And if what we just did doesn’t discorporate me, then I don’t think anything will.”

Aziraphale raised a brow. “That’s a dangerous precedent to set, but I see your point.” He reached up and cupped Crowley’s cheek, smiling when Crowley pressed a kiss against his palm. “You’re extraordinary, do you know that?”

“Well, yeah,” Crowley said, and relaxed again. “Wouldn’t be much of a demon if I didn’t.”

* * *

_ **london 1793** _

“For somebody’s _sake_,” Crowley muttered, dropping down into an overstuffed armchair with a huff. “Next time you want to take a bloody _vacation_, can you do it a few blocks over?”

Aziraphale moved primly through the shop, checking on things here and there. “You didn’t need to escort me back.”

“Oh, yes, because you weren’t trying to talk me into a _quick_ jaunt to bloody _Zurich_ for hot _chocolate._”

“It’s _not that far_—”

“Alright, enough of this.” Crowley pushed himself out of the chair. “Next time, you can get yourself out of whatever _mess_ you’ve gotten yourself _into_.” He moved to leave, but the door was very much _locked_. He glanced over his shoulder. “...Angel.”

Aziraphale was all the way across the room, pretending not to notice. Crowley could have easily miracled the door open himself, but if this was a game they were now playing, he desperately wanted to know the stakes. Crowley turned and walked toward Aziraphale’s desk where he was shuffling through papers with no real investment. Crowley reached up and pulled that atrocious hat from his head and carded his fingers through Aziraphale’s curls. He did _like_ them, now that he thought about it. And he liked the way Aziraphale’s hair was now — not so pretentious as Crowley’s cafe academic look he’d been sporting in France to avoid suspicion. He took off his glasses and set them on the desk.

The sound of them hitting the wood was enough. Aziraphale stopped whatever task he’d invented for himself and let Crowley pull him into his arms.

“You’re _infuriatingly_ stupid sometimes,” Crowley murmured, “do you know that?”

“Well, I suppose someone just might have to teach me a lesson. _Enlighten_ me.”

Crowley laughed. “Is that a taunt, or a jab at my hair, because that time has long since passed.”

“Can’t it be a bit of both?”

“Yes,” Crowley said, and kissed him.

Afternoon light spilled in through the window over Aziraphale’s desk. Outside, carriages rattled down the streets. The bookshop still felt _new_, even though much of its contents were ancient. Everything felt new, and so _Crowley_ felt new. Newly made, newly held and touched. Like this was something undiscovered they were exploring. Crowley supposed, in some sense, it was. He’d never really _rescued_ Aziraphale before, and seeing him chained up in that cell had stirred something viral and protective inside Crowley. It swarmed through him, urged him on, and he pulled Aziraphale away from the window and onto one of the sofas.

“Been a while,” Crowley said.

“Yes,” Aziraphale mumbled, and straddled Crowley’s waist. “I don’t suppose you think we’ve…”

“Well, there’s only one way to find out.”

Aziraphale smiled against Crowley’s mouth. “My dear, will you _please_ get me out of these _terrible_ clothes?”

“Oh, _gladly_,” Crowley said, and snapped his fingers. He suddenly had a lapful of naked angel, and Crowley _wasn’t_ complaining. He curled his fingers around Aziraphale’s cock and swiped the tip with his thumb. The smear of precome tingled, but Crowley barely felt it. They’d been together a handful of times since that night in Crowley’s little flat above the bakery, the night he’d made _Hamlet_ a must-see. Aziraphale believed if they were going to build up a _proper_ resistance, then being consistent was _quite_ key.

Crowley let go to release his own rapidly stiffening cock from his breeches. Aziraphale looked down hungrily before meeting Crowley’s gaze.

“You know,” Crowley said, “you were the one who said one _little_ miracle couldn’t hurt.”

Aziraphale rolled his eyes. “You just don’t want to do the work.”

“True. I’d much rather inside you. Sooner rather than later.”

“Yes, _fine_.” Aziraphale sighed and straightened, reaching between them to guide Crowley’s cock into him. Crowley felt how slick and open he was and _moaned_. The tight, hot burn of Aziraphale sinking onto his cock was almost too much. Crowley closed his eyes and let his head fall back.

“So _good_, angel.”

“By definition.”

“Mmm, I don’t think this is one of your more _holy_ talents.” They both laughed and then Aziraphale was completed seated on him, full full _full_ of Crowley’s cock. Crowley’s hands skated down his sides and gripped Aziraphale’s hips. “That’s right. Fuck yourself on me.”

“_Oh_—” Aziraphale lifted up and dropped back down with a sigh, his expression _delighted_. “My dear, you always feel perfect.”

“J-just for you,” Crowley managed. He was surrounded by Aziraphale’s heat, enjoying the sight of his flushed cock bobbing against his stomach. Crowley reached out and smeared precome on his thumb and licked it. He felt the dullest burn followed by a certain smugness. Crowley was a _demon_. And he could withstand the holy burn of everything Aziraphale had to offer. He desperately wanted Gabriel and all the others to know. That their precious principality was a wild, wailing mess on _his_ cock, and that they had been undoing one another with zero consequences for decades.

“_Crowley!_”

“That’s right, that’s _good._ Are you going to come from this? Or do you want me to touch you?”

“Touch me, _touch me_—”

“You like that.”

“Oh, I do. Your hands, your brilliant hands, just—” Aziraphale threw his head back as Crowley began fisting his cock, slick and slow at first, picking up the pace as he felt Aziraphale getting closer.

“Perfect angel. _Wonderful._ Why don’t you come for me?”

“I—” Aziraphale shook his head. “I want to—”

“What is it?”

Aziraphale looked at him. “I want you to come inside me. I know it will be enough. I can _feel_—”

Crowley faltered. “I…” Aziraphale had released inside him a few times since the first. Each time, Crowley took it better, but Aziraphale had never taken Crowley’s seed. Crowley pulled out, Crowley was careful, Crowley wanted him _safe_ —

The notion hit him very suddenly. He’d swooped into the Bastille, no prompting, and now he was petrified that he might _injure_ Aziraphale, that he might send him too far over the edge —

Aziraphale slowed down and leaned forward to kiss Crowley’s brow. “I think I am quite capable,” he said. “And I have been waiting for so long. Won’t you give me what I give you? Won’t you let me—”

“But what if—”

“After so long? My dear, you have such a blatant disregard for your own safety, and on occasion I am envious, but you _must_ let me make this decision.”

Crowley shuddered. He _was_ desperate to come, and to do it like this, to fill Aziraphale with it and watch his face as he felt the hellfire burn of Crowley throughout him — it was almost enough to make him come right then.

Crowley nodded, and Aziraphale kissed him. “Take me,” he said, and Crowley didn’t hesitate. He turned Aziraphale onto his back on the sofa and began to fuck him. “Harder,” Aziraphale pleaded, “_harder!_” Crowley did as he was asked, fucking Aziraphale with renewed fervor, watching his cock slide in and out of his hole, mesmerized by the sound of Aziraphale’s voice as he showered Crowley with compliments and praise. _Oh, that’s it, that’s wonderful, don’t stop, don’t you _dare_ stop, I’m so close, Crowley, I’m so close and you’re so good_ —

_Yes_, Crowley thought, suddenly filled with something saccharine and dreadful. _Tell me again, tell me over and over again_.

He wanted it, and he hated it. Two sides of a coin that bore Aziraphale’s face. Crowley moaned, drawing out completely before thrusting all the way in, every thrust now intent. He had a single goal, and it was to make Aziraphale come, right after he’d chased his own pleasure into its final throes.

“I know you’re nearly there,” Aziraphale said, and took one of Crowley’s hands, pressing it to his lips. “Come, Crowley. I know you’re ready, don’t be afraid, you can’t—”

Crowley thrust in, spilling himself inside Aziraphale with a shout. Beneath him, Aziraphale’s back arched and he _wailed_, coming across his stomach and chest. Crowley tried to pull out, but Aziraphale’s legs were locked around him and he was a _lot_ stronger than he looked.

“_Don’t you dare_,” he managed, and took deep breaths. “Oh, _oh_, Crowley. _Crowley._”

“I hurt you, I hurt you I’m sorry—”

“No, _no._ My dear, it doesn’t—” Aziraphale took a few more breaths and then opened his eyes. He trailed his fingers through the mess on his chest and held them up for Crowley to lick clean. He did. No argument.

It was _warm_, but in a way that buzzed with magic. With _Aziraphale._

Crowley pulled away and looked down. “...Oh.”

Aziraphale laughed. “Yes. I think we’re—” He winced and unwound his legs from Crowley’s waist. Crowley’s cock slipped out. Without thinking, he got off the sofa and onto his knees and licked right up between Aziraphale’s cheeks. “_Ah!_ Crowley, oh—” Crowley sucked and slipped his tongue into Aziraphale’s come-slick hole and tasted his own seed. He only stopped when Aziraphale pushed him away and suddenly dove in to kiss him, tongue swirling in Crowley’s mouth, licking him clean.

They both pulled back. Crowley was still mostly dressed, and they must have looked a _sight_ to anyone who might have wandered in. No one did, and Aziraphale said, almost _gleefully_, “I think we’re getting somewhere.”

* * *

_ **london, 1813** _

Crowley had been thinking about knocking over a bookshelf onto Lord Farthing’s _head_ when a very familiar energy swept into the room. It prickled like angel and hot coals and Crowley instinctively turned to the entryway of the house. He scowled over the heads of the rest of the party guests, trying to get a good look at exactly who he knew had walked into the house —

And then he swore. Grabbed a flute of champagne and drained it in one go.

_Bastard_.

He’d beat Crowley to it.

“Oh, I _thought_ I sensed you when I walked in.” Aziraphale whipped out his fan and pushed air into his flushed face. His curls were coming down from his carefully pinned hair. “What are you doing here, Crowley? I’ve got a terribly important job.”

“Could say the same about me. Nice dress.”

Aziraphale looked down — it was a lovely thing of cream and gold, with a matching set of gold laurel hair pins just above his ears. “Oh, I had it made last week. The Farthings are _lovely_, aren’t they?”

“Lord Farthing is having no less than three affairs, and his son has been embezzling money from the family business for six months. His wife his angry and bored, his daughter very close to running away with that young soldier over there.”

Aziraphale looked _struck._ “Oh dear.”

“What was it you were here for?”

“I, um. Well, it’s Lord Farthing’s _sister-in-law_, actually. I’m here to encourage her to follow the word of God.”

“Just as well. The Farthings are mostly godless heathens. They could use a nun in the family.” Flustered, Aziraphale grabbed a glass of champagne. “Why are you dressed like that, if you’re trying to get her to run off to the convent?”

“I thought this might...well I had assumed—”

“Nah, you look great, angel. Stunning, actually.” _Beautiful._ “Wish I’d thought of it.”

“Oh, you know I had wondered if you would before me.”

“I did once. Crucifixion.”

“Yes, well, there was hardly an occasion such as _this_ in _Golgotha._”

Crowley shrugged. “True.”

Aziraphale sighed. “So what are you doing here?”

“Encouraging the young Lord Farthing to start taking just a few coppers more each month. Once he sees how easy it is, he’ll take a few _more._ Then a few _more._ Eventually, he’ll run off with the lot of it.”

“To _where?_”

“America, probably. He’s got a friend set to leave for New York in a year. Probably take the money and start some insipid _pub_ with it.”

“Oh. Well, that doesn’t sound _too_ terrible.”

“It’ll break his mother’s heart. Same as it will when her only sister goes to Florence and never speaks to her again”

Aziraphale sighed. “Yes, I’m sure it will.”

They wallowed for a moment in the mess of their respective tasks before Crowley said, “We could be married.”

“Oh?”

“No one’s noticed me. Haven’t had much reason to introduce myself. If you were my wife, we could both entertain the family, have more of a reason to needle invitations out of them.”

Aziraphale nodded. “I suppose we could. We don’t have _rings_.”

“Easy enough.” Crowley reached into his pocket where he expected two rings to be and found them. “Thoughts?”

“Well. I suppose it would be_ fun._”

“Indeed.”

Aziraphale smiled and took one of the bands, sliding it over his finger and admiring it. Crowley did the same. “Well, husband of mine, I suppose we must make a more proper entrance together.”

Crowley laughed and, with a snap, they were at the front of the house again. It was easy to introduce themselves, and Aziraphale was a delightful Mrs. Crowley, flapping his fan and making polite conversation. Crowley stood beside him and silently nodded along to whatever story he told. They broke away to start planting the seeds of their respective blessings and temptations.

The Arrangement — the one regarding giving one another a hand here and there — did spring to mind as Crowley planted the idea for thievery in Jonathan Farthing’s little head. If he’d _known_ Aziraphale would be at the same party, he’d have done the blessing himself.

But this, he thought, as he watched Aziraphale flit from group to group, moth to flame, was _much_ more fun. And he _looked_ good doing it. Crowley felt a terrible stirring in him, and desire overwhelmed him like a tidal wave.

It must have spilled off of him because Aziraphale, mid-conversation, stopped, looked at Crowley, and smiled.

_Oh fuck._

“Excuse me,” he heard Aziraphale say, and swallowed around the knot in his throat as Aziraphale _floated_ toward him. “Husband. Are you well?”

“_Quite._”

“Do you need a change of scenery?”

“Very much,” Crowley croaked, and let Aziraphale take his arm and lead him from the room. The noise of the party died down behind him as they wound through the halls of the Farthing’s estate. Aziraphale pushed open door after door, shaking his head until he found the perfect room.

“A _library?_” Crowley asked, as the door shut and locked behind them.

“I have had a very specific fantasy on my mind for the last three days. Ever since I knew I’d be here. I started hoping you would, too.”

“Angel, the _Arrangement_—”

“To hell with that,” Aziraphale snapped, and pulled Crowley through the library, until his back hit a shelf. “You’re here and so am I. I think our _secondary_ arrangement takes precedent. Don’t you?”

Crowley swallowed. He could smell Aziraphale’s perfume and he wanted to _taste_ it. Nodding, he bent and licked Aziraphale’s throat, laving his tongue over his pulsepoint until Aziraphale _moaned._

“Angel—”

“Fuck me,” Aziraphale said, and Crowley nodded. He gathered up Aziraphale’s skirts and chemise as Aziraphale fumbled with the buttons of Crowley’s trousers and pushed them down. Crowley grabbed palmfuls of Aziraphale’s gorgeous, milky thighs and wrapped them around his waist. Aziraphale hissed as his back dug against the bookshelf, but Crowley didn’t stop.

“Hold onto me,” Crowley murmured, and Aziraphale wound his arms around Crowley’s neck, bracing them against one another while Crowley reached down to test the slickness of Aziraphale’s cunt. “_Fuck_, angel.”

“I’ve been wet since I saw you,” Aziraphale breathed, and Crowley nearly fell backwards. “Does it please you?”

“You’ve _no_ idea.”

“Then you best give me one,” Aziraphale said, laughing. Crowley nodded, stroking his cock and teasing Aziraphale’s entrance with the tip. Aziraphale’s eyes fluttered closed as Crowley began to press into him and felt that dull, pleasant ache already start through him. Aziraphale’s head tipped back and Crowley sheathed himself entirely.

“_Oh_—”

“Crowley…”

“Oh, that’s _very_ good.”

“Is it?”

“Yes. You’ve outdone yourself, angel.”

Aziraphale laughed, sounding pleased. “I had hoped, you know. If you were here, if you’d like it.”

“Admit it,” Crowley said, beginning to thrust in earnest. “You made sure I would be.”

Aziraphale looked at him, brow raised. “Are you saying I’ve attempted to manipulate the situation so I might have my wicked way with you?”

“Yes,” Crowley said plainly, and began to fuck him harder. The bookshelf rattled behind them, and Aziraphale made the most wonderful sounds. The constant warmth of his angelic essence pulsed around Crowley’s cock. It was different than the other times they’d been together, different than the heat of Aziraphale’s mouth. Aziraphale’s moans grew louder, so Crowley kissed him, sliding his tongue in his mouth.

“They’ll _hear you_, angel.”

“Oh, let them. _Let them._ They can be jealous, they can envy me—”

“Terrible sins.”

Aziraphale’s mouth hung open, mid-cry, and he looked at Crowley fiercely. “What we _do_ is not a sin. What we do is _beyond_ that.”

Crowley swallowed. He’d always felt the same, always felt that as he and Aziraphale grew closer, grew _better_ at this, they were achieving something greater than themselves. Crowley had no idea what that _was_, he searched for it often and found it just out of his reach — but he _knew_ they were supposed to be like this. He knew they were supposed to find one another, find _comfort_ in one another, and push these boundaries.

“Touch me?” Aziraphale asked, and Crowley released his hold on one of Aziraphale’s legs and reached to find his clit, thumb flicking across it and moving in tight, quick circles around it. “_Very_ good, my dear. Your wife is pleased.”

“I think of nothing else, all my days,” Crowley murmured. Aziraphale clenched around him and Crowley groaned. “I’m—” He came quickly, spilling into Aziraphale who cried out as he was flooded with heat and burn and pleasure. Aziraphale came, too, tightening around Crowley’s cock and gripping him tighter. Several books topped onto the floor on the other side. Aziraphale looked a mess.

“...I’ve ruined your hair,” Crowley muttered. They stared at one another a moment before breaking into laughter.

“Easy enough to fix,” Aziraphale said. He ran a hand over it and his curls righted themselves. Crowley fixed his trousers and cleaned up the bookshelf. “Will they miss us?”

“Of course not,” Crowley said. Without thinking, he kissed Aziraphale’s temple, as though it might disperse his concerns into thin air. “Come on, let’s go get delightfully drunk and make several people uncomfortable.”

“Are you going to whisper seductively in my ear?” Aziraphale asked as they stepped into the hall. He sounded _giddy_ at the prospect.

“All bloody night,” Crowley said, and went to get wine to make good on his promise.

* * *

_ **london, 1941** _

“You know,” Crowley muttered, head lolling to the side as he stretched out in Aziraphale’s bed, “I thought that was going to be worse.”

Aziraphale was still carefully looking over the soles of Crowley’s feet, but couldn’t find much fault with them. “Hm?”

“The church.” Crowley sat up. “I mean, it stung. That’s _consecrated_ ground, angel. It’s not like me letting you—”

“Yes, alright,” Aziraphale snapped. “You’ve made your point.”

Crowley scowled. “Oh, _what?_” he asked. “Embarrassed, now? After our little _tiff?_ I went ‘round you know, and your bloody shop was closed for the season. I mean where the hell did you run off to—”

“Berlin, funnily enough.” Aziraphale sighed. “And I’m not _embarrassed._”

Crowley frowned. “Did you...get into trouble?”

“No, of course not.”

“Then _what_—”

“I thought were weren’t _friends_ anymore,” Aziraphale said, and gave up on trying to fix anything at all. “I thought...I thought after our fight you wouldn’t even want to be around me again, let alone any of _that._”

“Fucking.”

“Yes, Crowley. Fucking. I thought, well if you were done with that, I could live. But I couldn’t stand the idea that you’d never want to see me again. And then Gabriel shipped me off to Berlin for four years and I thought _surely_ you wouldn’t want to see me after I disappeared, and then I really _didn’t_ see you, until you walked into that church and you’re _honestly_ telling me that you feel fine?”

Crowley blinked. “...Why wouldn’t I want to be your friend?”

Aziraphale sunk into an armchair in the corner of the room and sighed. “I don’t _know_,” he said, waving his hand, “it was just the first thing that popped into my head.”

“Well it would never happen.”

Aziraphale raised a brow. “Never?”

“Absolutely fucking not.” Crowley swung his legs off the bed. His feet did _hurt_, but he was feeling fine. Mostly. He felt _fear_, momentarily, that Aziraphale had been caught and chastised. Punished, somehow, for his association with Crowley. Without another thought, he got up, crossed the room to Aziraphale, and sank to the floor between his knees.

“...Crowley.”

“I am stuck in your orbit,” he said. “I’ve no intention and no _desire_ to go _anywhere_ else.”

“I couldn’t find you—”

“And yet, here I am.”

Aziraphale sighed, reaching out and cupping Crowley’s cheek. “Yes,” he said, “here you are.”

Crowley turned his head and kissed Aziraphale’s wrist. He didn’t have much else to say but _that._ He stood and took Aziraphale’s hands and led him to the bed.

“Oh, I don’t—”

“Humor me,” Crowley said, and helped him out of his waistcoat and tie. Aziraphale toed off his shoes and laid out in bed as Crowley pulled off his jacket and tossed it onto a stack of books. He stretched out next to Aziraphale and they laid there, side by side on their backs. Crowley snapped his fingers and the room went dark. Moonlight spilled into the room. Planes rattled overhead.

“...I hate this,” Aziraphale said, and reached for Crowley’s hand. “_War._”

“If you’ve seen one…”

“No. This one’s different.”

Crowley sighed. Aziraphale was right. It certainly _was._

* * *

_ **london, 1967** _

Crowley _loved_ this dress. He loved the way he felt in it, the way people looked at him when he wore it and the thoughts that went through their heads as he walked past. At a little corner club in Soho he leaned across the bar and got a gin and tonic and turned around, eyes skating across the crowd.

He’d already done what he came here to do — little temptation of the heart, sometimes politicians were so bloody _stupid_ — and now he was having _fun._

Mostly. Being in Soho meant being closer to Aziraphale than he’d dared let himself get the last few weeks. The words traded between them in the car still stung — _don’t go unscrewing the cap, the holiest, you go too fast for me crowley_.

Crowley scowled. What was faster than the things they’d been getting up to? It’s not like he’d...he hadn’t suggested they get _married_, run off and never come back. Not that the idea hadn’t crossed his mind several hundred times.

Crowley was in love with Aziraphale, and Aziraphale knew it. But love had never been part of their Arrangement. Either of them. Love was something far away, something human. Sex could be enjoyed by anyone. Friendship was pleasant and offered them the benefits of companionship in a world where they were very much alone.

What did _love_ have to offer?

Crowley drained his glass and slammed it on the bar. He was tense and _bored_ now, which was a bad state for him to be in. He picked a few pockets on the way out the door to settle his nerves before stepping onto the sidewalk. It was autumn. Cool October air hit his pub-hot neck and his nearly moaned with relief before heading down the street toward the Bentley.

When he got there, a certain angel was sitting in the back seat.

Crowley opened the door and slid in beside him. He was dressed down, as he often seemed to be these days. He kept pressing his hands against his thighs, swallowing around something.

“Angel…”

“So you haven’t used it.”

“I think you’d have known that.”

Aziraphale glanced at him. He obviously needed this ruse to work, needed Crowley to be dense enough for whatever he was asking.

“Crowley.”

“No, angel. I haven’t used it on myself.”

“Good. That’s...that’s _good._”

Crowley sighed and pulled off his false lashes, flicking them away. “What do you need?”

“You look very nice,” Aziraphale blurted out.

Crowley raised a brow. “I’ve been busy.”

“You haven’t come around. I’ve been...well I was expecting you to…”

“You seemed very put out with me, last time we met.” Crowley sniffed. He liked the smell of this perfume. It reminded him of the scent Aziraphale had worn, the taste of it when Crowley had licked his neck in the library, so long ago. “I thought I’d give you your space.”

Aziraphale looked at him pleadingly. “...I don’t want space,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

Crowley opened his mouth to say something, but nothing seemed right. He moved, climbing into Aziraphale’s lap and kissing him, smearing red lipstick over his mouth and chin. “_Angel_.”

“May I fuck you? We can go back to the shop, I’ve got a bottle of—”

“Here.”

“...In your car?”

“Mph.” Crowley kissed him again and Aziraphale moaned, his hands sliding up Crowley’s thighs and under the black fabric of his dress. He gripped Crowley’s ass in his hands and Crowley rolled his hips, feeling Aziraphale growing harder beneath him. One of Aziraphale’s hands came and cupped at the front of Crowley’s underwear, two fingers pushing them aside before slipping into his cunt.

“_Aziraphale_—”

“How many people walked past you and thought of doing this?”

“Jealous?”

“Never. Only pleased it gets to be me.”

Crowley moaned as Aziraphale fucked him with his fingers, pushing back to get more. He reached down and began undoing the button and zipper of Aziraphale’s slacks and pulled out his cock. Crowley licked the palm of his hand and Aziraphale hissed as he began to stroke him. Aziraphale pulled out his fingers and brought them up to Crowley’s lips, smearing wetness there like lipstick.

“Take me,” he said, and Crowley leveraged himself up and over Aziraphale’s cock, letting the tip breach him carefully before he began to sink down. “_Oh._”

“Too fast for you angel?”

Aziraphale looked at him sharply and said nothing. Crowley smirked and began moving up and down, legs trembling with the effort. He could see in Aziraphale’s eyes that he was feeling that same, subtle ache, but it was so different now. So different from their first times, fumbling about in the dark and making a mess of one another. They knew what they liked. Aziraphale knew exactly how to drive him wild, and Crowley knew exactly how to make Aziraphale _howl._

The Bentley was in plain view of anyone and everyone, but not a soul paid them any mind. The car windows began to fog as they filled the car with plaintive moans and murmurs of encouragement and praise. Crowley loved to hear Aziraphale _exalt_ him, and he was more than happy to do the same. It had been so long since they’d touched, but not a single thing was forgotten.

And still, Crowley loved.

The pointlessness of it overwhelmed him, threatened to pull him under and apart, but he didn’t dare stop. Aziraphale was close, Crowley recognized the tension in his voice, the way his hips stuttered and the muscles in his throat worked around the words he wanted to say.

Crowley put both hands in Aziraphale’s hair, pressed their foreheads together and asked, “Won’t you come in me, angel? Won’t you fill me up? Let me have you?”

“_Crowley_—”

“I know you’ve been wanting to, and it’s been so long since I had you like this. And now look, I’ve made a perfect Effort, just for us.”

“You came here on purpose.”

“I might have.”

“You’re a _fiend_,” Aziraphale muttered, and they both laughed. “Oh my dear, may I?”

“Of course you can. _Of course._”

With a moan, Aziraphale thrust once more into Crowley and came. It didn’t burn through him, didn’t set Crowley alight the way it had done so centuries ago. It sparked and it warmed and it made him feel _whole_, now. Here, right _here_ — this was where he was meant to be. Any way he could be with Aziraphale, that’s what he wanted, that’s what he desired.

Crowley made to shift over and off Aziraphale’s cock, but he stopped him.

“My dear. You haven’t finished.”

“Don’t worry—” Crowley cut himself off with a moan as Aziraphale began to fuck him again, hard and ready while he teased his clit. “Already?”

“I want to feel you come on my cock. Your cunt is so lovely.”

Crowley laughed. “M-made it myself.”

“Can you come back to the shop with me? I’d very much like to lay you out, you know. Taste _every_ part of you.” Aziraphale pulled him close. “Fuck you open with my tongue.” Crowley gasped. “Would you like that?”

“Yes, _yes_, angel _please_—”

“Will you be very good and come for me, Crowley? I can come, too. You feel so wonderful around me.”

“Fuck, yes, _fuck_—” Crowley fucked himself with Aziraphale’s cock while Aziraphale worked at his clit. With a wail, Crowley came, clenching on Aziraphale’s cock and fucking himself through the spasms. With one more thrust, Aziraphale came again, and this time it was only good, only warmth, only sweetness that Crowley felt as he was full, full, _full_.

They clung to one another until Crowley lifted up and off Aziraphale’s cock. He clenched, feeling empty, and slumped forward. Aziraphale sighed.

“You’ve ruined these pants.”

“I think you’ll find you played quite a large part in that, angel.” He groaned and rolled off, landing on the seat with a wet noise. There was come dripping down his thighs and his dress was a disaster. “Is that drink still on the table?”

Aziraphale turned his head toward Crowley and nodded. “Of course.” He kissed him. “So long as you are.”

* * *

_ **london, the first day of the rest of their lives** _

“So you think the prophecy means that you and me have to—” Crowley waved his hand between the two of them, and Aziraphale nodded. “How would we even _begin_ to do something like that?” He shifted on the park bench uncomfortably.

Aziraphale sighed and stood producing some frozen peas from his pocket and tossing them into the pond. “I’m not entirely sure. I think, perhaps, we just have to..._imagine_ it.”

“Well I can _do _that. But do you think they’ll _notice_, is the key here.” Crowley stood and turned around to inspect the park. They could just do it _now_, he could make it so no one was paying attention, that part was easy. “Should we just go for it, we may as well—”

Crowley turned, and Aziraphale was gone. Well, he was actually halfway up the path, being dragged away, unnoticed by passerby, by two angels.

“Hey, _wait!_” Crowley made to run after them, but he tripped, tripped right over a woman jogging past who turned around and _beaned_ him in the back of the head, before leaning down and whispering, in Hastur’s scratchy voice, “_Not so fast now, are we?_”

Crowley looked up from his spot on the ground with a soft groan before planting his cheek in what was most assuredly duck shit.

* * *

Considering Crowley was a demon, he really didn’t _like_ Hell, and had tried to avoid going there as often as possible. It was very _damp_, and he’d never been especially fond of the damp. When he’d finished being the Black Knight in Wessex, he’d found Aziraphale at a little tavern, and they’d passed the few evenings they had together drinking, getting one another off, and complaining about the constant fog.

It was nice, in the inexplicably _moist_ hallways of Hell, to remember Aziraphale being very much himself one last time.

When he saw the tub placed in front of the window where a dozen demons were crammed together, cheeks and noses pressed to the glass, he felt a knot start growing in his throat. This was _not_ going to end well.

“I sentence you to death by holy water,” Beelzebub said, once Hastur had finished describing, in detail, the way poor Ligur had gone out. Crowley didn’t think it was prudent to say that he’d hope the bucket would catch them both, and that he’d probably just flubbed the angle of the door or something, honestly. He wondered how much it would have changed, but it didn’t really matter now.

Crowley didn’t pay much attention to Michael filling the tub. He was looking up, up toward the Host, up to Heaven — up to _Her._

_I know you’re there,_ he thought bitterly. _And I know he’s there, too. You be careful with him. Whatever they’re planning, you make sure they’re careful. I know he’s tough, but he’s one of Yours, so just...you know. _

_Keep him safe._

Crowley did not belong to Her anymore. Crowley belonged to no one but Aziraphale. Why hadn’t he said more? Why hadn’t he confessed? If they weren’t going to make the switch couldn’t they have at least shared one last moment before it all fell out from under them?

_I love him_, Crowley thought. _Will you tell him that? Aziraphale, wherever you are — _

_I love you._

Michael finished filling the tub. “I’ll be back to collect it all once you’ve..._finished_,” she said, after Hastur had tested it. She walked from the room and Crowley swallowed thickly.

“Well?” Beelzebub leaned back. “Any last words?”

Crowley sighed. Dagon unlocked his chains.

“Yeah,” he said, massaging his wrists. “You mind if I take off my shoes?”

* * *

The first thing he thought upon approaching the tub, was that he had honestly _never_ expected to go this way. Thank God or _whoever_ for someone as clever as Aziraphale, who suspected as much and understood Agnes Nutter from the very beginning. If they’d been quicker, if they’d _both_ been just as clever, perhaps it would be Crowley in Aziraphale’s place, or perhaps they’d have found a way to outsmart them all.

And then he stopped thinking, because the only images that came to mind as he toed off his shoes and shrugged out of his jacket and, defiantly, took off his trousers and most everything else, save his socks and his undergarments — was _Aziraphale_.

Aziraphale kissing his neck, Aziraphale teasing him about his music, Aziraphale sputtering angrily at him in the Dowling’s garden, Aziraphale standing on the tarmac, flaming sword in hand — _come up with something, or I’ll never talk to you again._

He loved him. He loved that beautiful, _spectacular_ idiot. Cleverest idiot in the world, and for so long he’d been all Crowley’s. Never had to share him. Took him for granted some years, came so close to spilling his guts others.

He put two hands on the edge of the tub and thought about just tumbling face forward. Maybe it’d speed things up.

_Whatever they’re doing to you_, he thought, _I hope you make it out the other side. One of us should. One of us has to._

Crowley sighed, put one hand on the other side of the tub, and started to lower himself in.

* * *

_It felt like Aziraphale._

Comfort washed over him, and then the angel-hot spark that had become so familiar. The feeling he chased down in Aziraphale’s mouth, under his hands, back bowed and limbs askew. The feeling he craved when they were apart for too long. The feeling he begged for, the feeling he swallowed, the feeling he _loved_.

The _angel_ he loved.

Crowley sank into the water and nearly moaned with pleasure. It occurred to him that he was not entirely a demon anymore, though he knew that wasn’t possible. Crowley was made and forged in the fire and ash of his reluctant fall. The angel, the starmaker he’d once been — that creature had burned away. Even a lifetime of loving Aziraphale couldn’t _change _that.

But it could make him into something _better._ Crowley realized with a jolt that all those years he’d been struggling to see, striving to understand — _why, why, why do I need you, crave you, why do you fit alongside me like you were always meant to be_ — it was all unknowingly leading up to _this_ moment. To the moment where they were not quick enough, not fast enough.

The moment where Crowley was _good_ enough to sink deep into a dingy white tub and bathe in the sparks of holy water.

He glanced over at Beelzebub, who sat frozen in their judge’s chair and looked at Crowley with rage and confusion and shock and _fear._ Crowley raised a single brow, flicking holy water off his hand and at the window separating him and the rest of Hell. It hissed on contact and he heard several demons scream as they jumped back.

Crowley said, “I think we’re done here, _my lord_,” and Beelzebub nodded. Michael’s footstops faltered as she walked back into the room and nearly dropped the decanter she’d used to fill the tub. “I’ll be going now,” Crowley said to her, and rolled out with a great sloshing sound. A wave of holy water spilled onto the floor. Crowley dressed with a snap, then took one hand, pulled it through the water, and combed his hair back. “And I think it might be best if you leave me be.” He rolled his shoulders and sighed contentedly. “Don’t you?”

* * *

The bookshop doors flew open as Crowley approached, and, for a moment, he was surrounded by flames and taking a jet of water to the chest and paper was spilling down around him and heat was swallowing him up, but he blinked and it was fine. It was fine. _It was fine._

Different, but fine.

Some new editions, he noted. A series he didn’t recognize, probably Adam’s handiwork.

“Aziraphale!” Crowley began looking frantically between the stacks, as though his angel might have been filed away for later. But later was _now_ and if Crowley didn’t put his hands on Aziraphale in the next ten _fucking_ seconds, he was crawling up to Heaven himself, and he was going unhinge his jaw and unhinge himself from this entire fucking planet, because it wasn’t worth living in if Aziraphale wasn’t there, too —

“_Crowley._”

Crowley turned, and standing under the skyle was his angel, his angel, _his angel_ — Crowley lunged, grabbing handfuls of Aziraphale’s coat and hauling him in. He was real, he was alive, and he was smiling.

“What happened? What did they—”

“Hellfire,” Aziraphale said, breathless. He pressed one hand on Crowley’s chest and closed his eyes. “And you?”

“Holy water.”

Aziraphale exhaled. “_Lord._”

“I told Her. I told Her to keep you safe.”

Aziraphale laughed. “I begged for the same. For _you._” He opened his eyes, looking up at Crowley. “But it wasn’t Her. It wasn’t anyone but us. We, um.” He cleared his throat. “Well. All those times, you know. That _we_—”

Crowley raised a brow. “You mean all those times I had a little angel in me?”

“Oh, you’re _terrible._”

Crowley laughed and, before he could second guess himself, kissed Aziraphale. And even though they had kissed a thousand times, and a thousand more — it was different. They both knew it.

“Angel…”

“Crowley, I think that I...owe you an apology.”

“No.”

“I was terrible, I—” He pried himself from Crowley’s grip and stepped back. “All these years you’ve been a friend and a comfort. A challenge, most certainly, but someone to _lean on_, and when you needed me, when we needed one another, I hid behind my duties as though my promises to you had never mattered.”

Crowley swallowed. “Do you need to keep going?”

“Yes. Yes, I do, because my bond with you is _obviously_ greater than any tie I have to any angel. My connection to this earth runs _through_ you and if I had to live on it alone, I simply couldn’t bear it.” He wrung his hands and seemed to be trying very hard not to cry. “When I was up there, I realized how much I couldn’t afford to lose you. I need you. I have always needed you. And I think, even _more_ than that...I love you, Crowley.” Aziraphale looked at him. “I really do.”

Crowley felt the need to stand very still. He worried if he moved, he would jostle the moment, shaking Aziraphale out of whatever state he was in and reminding him what a mistake all this would be.

Aziraphale sighed. “Crowley, won’t you _please_ say something?”

“I love you,” Crowley said. “But you already knew that.”

“...I did.”

“Years and _years_ I’ve loved you, angel.” Crowley stepped toward him, reaching out and cupping his cheek. “Years and years I wondered why you kept coming back.” He laughed. “_Holy water._”

“Hellfire.”

“Yeah. I guess we took care of ourselves in the end, didn’t we?”

Aziraphale reached up, covering Crowley’s hand with his own, pressing a kiss to Crowley’s wrist. “Don’t we always, my dear?”

* * *

The last time Crowley had been in Aziraphale’s bed was the day after the Antichrist came into the world. Freshly sober, a third Arrangement brokered, Aziraphale had offered him a place to rest for the night and Crowley had wound up with his wrists tied to the headboard and Aziraphale’s mouth between his legs for over an hour.

This time, he had Aziraphale spread out like _butter_ on the sheets, his body loose and primed for every touch and kiss Crowley pressed to him.

“I like you every way,” Crowley murmured. “And I love you even more.”

“My love…”

“You should call me that more often,” Crowley said. “Please?”

“Yes, of course.” Aziraphale ran a hand through Crowley’s hair. “Whatever you want. I’ll do _whatever_ you want.”

Crowley hummed. He rose up, the tip of his cock just barely pushing into Aziraphale, who had writhed with pleasure beneath him while Crowley had carefully teased him open, just a few minutes before. “Let me have you?”

“_Please._”

Crowley nodded, keeping his eyes on Aziraphale as he pressed into him, filled him slowly and steadily. Aziraphale gasped, tensing for a moment until Crowley leaned in and kissed his neck.

“Easy, angel. It’s only me.”

“_Ha!_ Only you. Oh, my dear. _Crowley…_”

“You want more?”

“I _do._”

Crowley laughed and kissed him again before picking up the pace of his thrusts. It felt so _good_ to be inside him, to finally be in a place where he could say what he felt, what he’d been feeling for _so long_ —

“Tell me,” Aziraphale gasped. “Tell me you love me again.”

“I love you,” Crowley said.

“Again.”

Crowley moaned, thrusting in harder now. “_I love you._”

“I feel it. I feel you. I’ve felt it for so long—”

“You…” Crowley couldn’t string more than a few words together, now. Aziraphale had relaxed, and he was taking Crowley _brilliantly._

“You want to hear me say it?” Crowley nodded. “You want to know how _much?_”

“Y-yes—”

“I love you, Crowley. I love you and I’m not going to stop. I’m never going to stop.”

Crowley was very sure if Aziraphale said that _one more time_, he was going to come. Not that he didn’t want to, and not that he couldn’t do it again, but he wanted this, right now, to last. He wanted to be here and be present and be _in love_ in this exact moment, for as long as he could.

The world narrowed down to that point, the place where they were joined at the hips, where Crowley pressed in and in, where Aziraphale was hard and flushed, where his legs wound around Crowley’s waist and held him fast. The world narrowed down to only this, and Crowley let his eyes meet Aziraphale’s and not another word was spoken, not another praise uttered, as the two of them felt without boundaries for the first time in so long. Always their nights together had been tinged with the fear of what was to come, of what might eventually _be._

Now, there was nothing. Untethered, unassigned, they were absolutely themselves, they absolutely belonged to one another. Crowley kissed Aziraphale to remind him, and Aziraphale moaned and Crowley understood that he knew. _Mine and mine and mine and ours._

With a cry, Crowley came, rolling his hips and spilling into Aziraphale. Aziraphale arched from the bed and whimpered softly, and Crowley knew what he was feeling. He had been submerged in it just hours before.

Spark and light and _heat._ Their first fumbling moments together in a Roman apartment were nothing compared to this. Crowley stayed inside Aziraphale as long as he could manage, watching as he fisted his cock and came over his chest. Crowley pulled out and duck his head to lick Aziraphale clean, and he relished in the hot taste of him, the kindly cruel burn that he was senselessly addicted to.

When they were finished, Crowley rolled to his back and they stared up at the ceiling. It was late afternoon and with a wave of his hand, Aziraphale opened the window, letting the air spill in with the light, wafting the curtains to and fro.

“What now, do you think?” Crowley asked.

Aziraphale sighed. “I don’t know. I was considering a take away, if that's alright with you.” Crowley swatted him. “Ah. You mean _in general._” He waved his hands for emphasis.

“_Yes_, angel.”

“Well.” Aziraphale shifted onto his side, one arm tucked beneath his head, the other wrapping around Crowley’s waist and pulling him close. “I suppose they’ll leave us alone for a while.”

“Most likely. ‘til they get bored.”

“You think…”

“_Bah_. I don’t know.” Crowley rolled to his side, too, and kissed Aziraphale’s brow. “We’ll just have to see.” Aziraphale looked concerned, and right now he didn’t need that. Crowley sat up on his elbow and carded his fingers through Aziraphale’s curls. “What if I take you to dinner, hm?”

“_Oh_, would you?” Aziraphale broke into a mad grin. _That_ was what Crowley wanted to see.

“Sure. I’m fairly certain there’ll be a free table at the Ritz once we arrive.”

“I can be ready in a juffy.” Aziraphale rolled out of bed and Crowley groaned before pushing himself onto his feet.

“It’s _jiffy_, angel. For _somebody’s_ sake.”

Aziraphale only raised a positively _mischievous_ brow and disappeared into his closet. Crowley’s heart skipped three or four completely unnecessary beats, and if he drove that evening a bit more carefully, if only to watch Aziraphale watching the rest of the not-ended world go by — could he be blamed for being the only thing right now he knew how to be?

A fool in love?

**Author's Note:**

> tumblr @ weatheredlaw


End file.
